


at the expense of the death of a bachelor

by curiousmuse



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), 호텔 델루나 | Hotel Del Luna (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-01-27 01:01:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21383500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiousmuse/pseuds/curiousmuse
Summary: Death is but the next great adventure.orNewt dies, but he doesn't exactly go on to Heaven, or Hell for that matter. Just like his other adventures, he gets distracted along the way when he comes across a hotel desperately in need of his Magizoology expertise (at least that's what it looks like), and its very, very attractive owner, Percival Graves.
Relationships: Original Percival Graves/Newt Scamander
Comments: 14
Kudos: 59





	1. November, 1914

**Author's Note:**

> A little crossover fic. Slight modifications to the tv show's premise, of course.
> 
> Not beta-read. 
> 
> If anyone wouldn't mind being my beta reader, please let me know! 🥺

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which Newt gets a job.

By all accounts, he really was a brilliant Magizoologist. It wasn't often that he'd admit that to himself, let alone anyone else. However, in times of extreme idiocy on his part, it usually did wonders for his confidence, particularly when he forgot the ferocity of a pregnant Ukrainian Ironbelly.

To be fair, he may have been momentarily mentally incapacitated, due to - wait, was his abdomen not hurting earlier? He rather thought he'd been shot with a nasty spell. He glanced down. Ah. Yes, he was. Chances of surviving such a spell was about 30%, given that he was in peak of health. He was, mind you. But funnily enough, he wasn't feeling the pain anymore. He'd never heard of anything like it before. If only he didn't run out of phoenix tears last month. Bugger.

He got up gingerly, careful not to aggravate his injury just in case. He looked around for his dragon ride, but found the field rather empty. Strange. He didn't remember feeling the gust of wind as she flew off. Where could she have gone? He trudged on, taking in the desolation around him. It was too quiet for a battlefield. Even during ceasefire, he'd expect to hear something.

"Hello there!"

He turned around, and saw a short, portly man standing on just outside a posh looking hotel. Was that there before? Inspired by his own curiosity, Newt walked towards the man, still applying pressure to his wound.

"Hello," he returned the greeting. "Am I still in Ukraine?"

The man beamed, holding out his hand in greeting. "Yes. I'm Jacob, and welcome to Hotel del Luna."

Newt shook his hand, still nonplussed.

"I'm sorry, but I don't remember a hotel in this village. Unless I'm much mistaken, and got thrown off course completely...?"

He looked around again to be certain. He was sure he'd been to this village before. He recognized some shops, but others looked... different.

"Oh, well, why don't you come in for a bit, Mister... ah, I don't think I got your name?" Jacob touched his elbow gently, urging for Newt to follow him up the stairs.

"Newt, just Newt is fine," he replied, giving the man a tight smile as he followed him into the lobby.

"Have a seat, Newt. Queenie or Tina will be right with you soon, alright? I just gotta attend to the other guests real quick." The man led him to a sitting area, and with a quick glance to make sure Newt was seated comfortably, he walked away.

Huh. There were already a few people meandering around the lobby. Some looked terribly sick, almost dead from cold. Some looked exceptionally well-rested. Where was he?

He glanced around, taking in the sheer opulence in the hotel decoration and furnishings. Glittering crystal chandeliers, gilded frames... and are those tapestries? He got up to inspect the closest one.

Just as he got closer, a blur of black whizzed past him. Wh-what was that? He turned to see where it came from, only to be pushed aside roughly by someone chasing after the black blur, and knocking over a vase as he tried to get out of the way. Before he could whip out his wand, wait, where was his wand? Had he lost it? He patted his pockets, oblivious to the stares directed his way.

A dark-haired man came to stand in front of him, a slight grimace on his handsome face.

"My apologies, Mr. Scamander. I'll take care of that," he said with a sigh, waving nonchalantly at the broken pieces as the vase repaired itself and was set back upon the side table.

"Um. Thank you, and I do apologize, someone pushed past me, and I -"

"That would be me. We have ... a slight pest problem," he muttered, holding up a petulant Niffler.

"Oh, that's a Niffler! They're attracted to shiny things. So this little fellow probably feels overwhelmed." He beamed at the man, though his little information did nothing to improve the man's mood, it seems.

"I'm aware. He's just escaped his enclosure," the man replied gruffly. "Jacob, take Horton away, please. Make sure he returns my fountain pens."

"Yes, sir." Jacob hastily made his way over, taking the little black rascal away before it could wriggle itself free and cause more trouble.

Newt had a funny feeling that if he weren't there, the naughty Niffler would have gotten a very serious lecture from the man. He seemed the type to do so. The man was now looking at him from head to toe, and Newt shrunk in on himself from the scrutiny. Despite being shorter than him, the man's presence was authoritative and filled the room. One couldn't help but to be cowed a little by the intimidation.

"Excuse me, but how do you know my name?" Newt asked; the silence seemed to stretch on too long, and he needed to fill it. He wasn't one for small talk, but it was unnerving to be the object of someone's attention for a prolonged period of time.

The man didn't reply immediately. "Well, I suppose we'll have to adjourn to my office. Follow me," he said after a beat, and led Newt down the corridor. They came to his office finally, the double doors opening on its own at the man's touch. 

"Have a seat."

Newt sat himself in the chair across the desk from the man, whom he found was Percival Graves, according to his plaque. He looked around the room, taking in the sight quietly as Mr. Graves summoned and perused a file. Newt zeroed in on the page to which he'd opened. Enclosed was his picture. What in the blazes? He looked up to meet the man's gaze, questions already on the tip of his tongue.

The man held up a hand, signaling for his silence as he began to speak.

"I'm Percival Graves, owner and general manager of Hotel del Luna. You're our guest, Mr. Scamander."

"Please, call me Newt. What do you mean, guest? I don't remember making any reservations. And how did you get that picture of me? Also, how do you know my name?"

Graves merely raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth seemed to twitch a little.

"You've just died an hour ago, Mr. Sca- Newt. Quite heroically, if I may say so. You are now in the afterlife, and you may be our guest for as long as you'd like, before you decide to pass on." He looked down at the file, a small smile now gracing his handsome features. "It's written here you're set for heaven, so you have that to look forward to."

"But I'm not done... I have so much work to do, and my book- I've only just started the chapter on dragons!" He exclaimed, wringing his hands as he realized his situation. He died. So that's why he didn't feel any pain. Was that also why his senses seemed altered?

"And that is why we offer our services. You may choose to complete all that you wish to achieve, with our facilities at your disposal."

His heart sank. This was far from ideal. He didn't mind death, but really, did it have to come with boredom? Didn't Dumbledore say something about it being the next great adventure?

"But I don't want to be a guest, I want to _do_ something. Work, anything--" He looked up at Graves, smiling suddenly at the man, who narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "You've got a pest problem, haven't you?"

"Yes, and...?" Graves responded slowly, wondering where this would lead.

"I'm a Magizoologist, it's what I do. Well, not pest control, but really learning the habits of magical creatures. Perhaps I can be of service? Surely the Niffler, Horton, wasn't it? Surely he isn't the only one in need of a caretaker?" He smiled eagerly, hoping Graves got the gist of his offer.

The man didn't respond immediately, but he seemed to consider Newt's suggestion. He flipped through the file again before looking up.

"I'm not sure if this will be fulfilling for you... we don't cater to magical beasts specifically, they just happen to us somehow." Graves looked almost reluctant to admit the last part.

"Well, I'd be happy to do some research as to how that happens? If you'd let me, and I'd love to work closely with some magical beasts." _Please_, he added silently, willing his eyes to look as pleading as possible without resorting to a pout.

It felt like forever, _hah_, but Graves relented after all.

"As you wish. I'll have Mr. Kowalski escort you to your rooms, and show you the enclosures for the beasts. He'll make sure you get oriented to the hotel." He made a note in Newt's file before dismissing it to the shelves on the eastern wall.

"But first, stand up."

Newt stood up at the command, silently tracking Graves as the latter made his way around the table to stand in front of him. The man waved his hand, and within moments, the grime, sweat and smell of blood disappeared off Newt. His dragon leather uniform was replaced by a dark blue vest over a white long-sleeved shirt, a small scorpion badge pinned above his right breast.

Graves stood close, his hands coming up to Newt's neck as he adjusted the bowtie. He smelled of a very masculine cologne, and up close, his dark eyes seemed impossibly darker, deeper. Graves was very attractive, Newt thought distractedly. Was there any rule against fraternization?

"You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like. But remember, as you are now an employee, your afterlife destination depends solely only on your behavior here. Partaking in vengeance, or anything beyond necessary retribution will only lead to hell, Mr. Scamander," Graves said. He patted his cheek before stepping away. "Do remember that."

He nodded. "Yes, of course." Did romancing the owner of the hotel count towards hell? "Um, Mr. Graves, what do you mean by beyond necessary retribution?"

"Sometimes we get guests with special requests. Ones who can't pass on without at least affecting something in the living world. We offer specialized services on their behalf, at my discretion." Graves watched him carefully. "You have any need for such services, Newt?"

"No, I don't think so. I think." Not at all. That was a relief. Although, what would happen if he wanted to pursue justice for the beasts? Perhaps he'd ask later.

"Good. Now go, I'll see you around. Paperwork to file. You'd think dying was easy, but no," the man grumbled, walking back to his seat.

Newt quickly exited the room, partly relieved to be away from the man's presence. His attractiveness was almost overwhelming, he felt smothered.

"Oh, hey, congratulations, Newt!" Jacob clapped his shoulder, beaming at him. "You're one of us, now, that's swell!"

"Yes, yes, thank you... oh, I don't think I know your name."

"Oh, my fault, it's Jacob. Jacob Kowalski. Came here about say, 20 years ago. I bake, tend the bar, and do some of the other stuff, plus we all got odds jobs to do. Really glad you came on board though, you'll be taking care of those Nifflers, you call them? See..." Jacob talked (and the man can really carry a conversation) as they walked, while Newt attempted to listen.

They came to a stop outside Newt's quarters.

"So this is your room. Feel free to do whatever you wish, I think. But if you need stuff from the living world, you'll have to ask Mr. Graves, since he's the only human with access to that stuff."

"Human? How is he human...?" Newt looked at Jacob curiously.

"You'll have to ask Queenie, or Tina. I'm not so sure about that. Something about eternal punishment? Or something? Must've been bad, else he wouldn't be here. But he's not so bad, he's a good man, Mr. Graves is."

"Hmm, alright. I shall ask next time, I suppose." In the meantime, Newt has things to do. Like design better enclosures for the beasts they won't ever want to leave their spaces for human spaces. Jacob did say something about Nifflers? There was more than one?

"Jacob, you said you had Nifflers."

"Oh yeah, like a whole bunch of them. Ten or more I reckon, I don't know."

He felt faint.

"Ten or more?" He whispered, though the other man didn't seem to hear him as he guided him away from the room.

"So Queenie does most of the cooking and housekeeping, Tina mostly makes sure the guests get their needs met, plus investigates the special cases they bring in sometimes for Mr. Graves..."

What kind of cases for Graves, Newt wasn't listening anymore. He was already frantically planning Niffler habitats. That will surely take him multiple afterlives to perfect, or even deem suitable. Merlin's balls.


	2. December, 1914

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt gets a taste for casework.

  
Newt took to his new "life" much like kappas to water. He'd been shown the beasts' dwelling place, where he found it wasn't exactly terribly managed, but the rancid smell escaping through the crack of the door convinced him work was to commence _immediately_. 

Given the right motivation, Newt threw himself into his work completely, almost to the point of ignoring everything else. He took stock of the utter chaos in the expansive room, relishing the challenge it posed his equally chaotic methods. On Pan, he swore he was going to make this a sanctuary fit for all beasts, even dragons (should their time come anytime soon, may their lives be long). Perhaps a phoenix might drop by (that would be incredibly fascinating, considering its rebirth abilities). Dying was beginning to look more exhilarating than his life. 

With the amount of work he had to do, including the odd job assigned to him here and there, he began to lose count of the days since he died. It wasn't that he didn't miss his family; he had always been rather distant from them anyway, and given the circumstances under which he died, they would've been prepared to hear news of his demise. He met the other employees Jacob mentioned, albeit reluctantly. Jacob practically had to drag him out of the beasts room to introduce himself to the others. 

Queenie was extremely perceptive, almost preternaturally able to read his mind, which he found rather unnerving. Tina was observant, but was more guarded than her sister, and she didn't suffer fools gladly—Newt regularly found himself at the receiving end of her incredulous stares. Still, both were very kind to him, and kept him out of sight (and trouble) from Mr. Graves, whose moods were tempestuous, they said. The man seemed to instill fear in them, but he was kind in his own way, Tina had assured him rather hastily. 

"It's just. He's a bit of a drama queen, sometimes. His bark _might_ be more dangerous than his bite," she had said. 

Newt had stared at her skeptically, but didn't argue. He hadn't seen the man since his first day, even if he frequently wandered down the hall just outside his office (no, it was not on purpose—the nifflers simply found the man's taste in jewelry to their liking). He wasn't disappointed, not at all. 

It was a Wednesday, no, Thursday (he tended to the flower garden on Thursdays), when he finally saw Mr. Graves. He was sound asleep beneath the old tree in the center of the garden. Newt shuffled nearer, drawn to the slumbering man. The man probably aged much, much slower than a normal human, perhaps even slower than wizarding folk, he observed. If he didn't know any better, he looked middle-aged. 

His feet were rooted to the spot, shears and duties forgotten. Mr. Graves had impeccable style—his white shirt stretched across a well-defined chest, his blazer accentuated broad shoulders, and the charcoal grey tie was loose around his neck, drawing Newt's eyes up to a strong stubbled jawline. There was no other word for it—Mr. Graves was beautiful. 

"Are you expecting me to do your job for you, or did I steal your sleeping spot?" The man asked drily, startling Newt out of his reverie.

"Oh—" He looked around frantically, trying to find an excuse. "Neither, sir, I was just… caught in other thoughts," he finished lamely.

Mr. Graves arched an eyebrow, lips turned in a sly smile. "Other thoughts?"

"Nothing special, ah. I realized I haven't seen you at all since our first meeting," he rambled on, looking everywhere else, missing the intent gleam in the man's eyes. "I just wanted to thank you for letting me stay, and to ask if there was anything else I could do to help with regards to the beasts."

"Oh." 

Newt looked up, puzzled at the flat look he received. Did he not convey his gratitude well enough? The man looked thoughtful for a moment, and seemed to come to a decision of sorts. 

"So you want more work?"

"Specifically with beasts, sir," he emphasized, alarmed at the thought of other mundane tasks. 

"I'll keep that in mind." The man rose from his spot, brushing off the dust before turning his intense gaze to Newt, who didn't have the will to break eye contact. "You're welcome to my office anytime, Newt. You don't have to pace up and down the hallway. I'd have to replace the carpet if you keep doing that, and there are other things I'd rather spend on." 

With a smirk and nod, Mr. Graves left the garden and Newt, who was aghast. _How could he have known?_ He was sure he was discreet and quiet, even while chasing the nifflers. Was there a spy? Casting one last look at the entrance, Newt resumed his duties, pondering on how the man obtained his information.

***

In the days after that chance meeting, Newt continued his project, and kept his <strike>visits</strike> niffler extraction trips to a minimum. He was steadily reorganizing the beasts room, crafting the various habitats and their micro-climates carefully to suit their respective tenants. Such good progress in the span of only a few days! He was almost done, save for strengthening the wards around the room to prevent the beasts from escaping. Oh, and the work shed by the entrance, where he planned to use as his research base. 

He paused in his work, admiring the creatures as they went about their way. Some had warmed up to him, while others, like the wampus, were still wary of him. He didn't mind, after all, it was all in good time. For now, he'd have to discuss with Queenie regarding his allowance. He wasn't sure how the hotel made its revenue, nor how it was all managed. 

"Newt?" A tentative voice called out to him, and he turned to see a dark-haired woman in a brown trench coat, standing in the doorway.

"Um. Tina. Over here!" He waved at her, stepping into her sight.

She came closer. "Queenie told me I could find you here."

"Oh, I was just thinking about her, actually," he began, when a dark look passed her features quickly before she schooled her face into something impassive. "Ah, not like that— I was just wondering about how finances were managed, and if I would be afforded some to reorganize this area?" He waved to the work shed.

She didn't answer immediately, a contemplative look on her face. He hoped she wasn't still suspicious of him. He wasn't sure how to deal with protective siblings. 

"Hmm. So, you know what we do, right? We help people fulfill their wishes before they go on to the afterlife, permanently." She paused. "When they leave, we get ah, a small commission. Especially for heaven-bound souls. Queenie budgets it so we keep the hotel running." 

"I see... but Mr. Graves," he began, but stopped abruptly when she held up a hand.

"Mr. Graves operates on an alternative revenue stream," she said, dark eyes glittering as she watched him. She smirked; Newt felt the hair on the back of his neck stand. "You'll find out soon enough. Anyway, I came here to get you, he wants us in his office."

"Oh, I was just going to—" He protested lightly, but Tina paid him no mind. She may have a slight frame, but she was really strong, he realized, as she grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him out of the room. 

"Here's something you should know, Newt," she muttered as she pulled him down a very familiar hallway.

"If Mr. Graves calls us, you go. Immediately. Drop everything and go. No questions asked, because that man is as impatient as a dragon breathes fire." She smiled apologetically as he nodded nervously. "So if he waits any longer than he has to, you're on the next bus to the afterlife."

"Surely he wouldn't be as cruel as to do that!" Newt exclaimed, alarmed at the thought of leaving all his unfinished work. All the beasts. Dragons. Phoenices!

"Not cruel, just unpredictable. But who knows, he might have mercy on you." 

They finally arrived at Mr. Graves' office. Tina was about to mutter a few spells to make him presentable when the door swung open violently, revealing an irritated man. 

"What took you so long?" Mr. Graves demanded. "Never mind, I don't actually care." He turned to Newt, who flinched slightly when the man reached out for him. 

"I'm not going to hit you, idiot. You stink and look terrible." The man waved away at Newt, wordlessly cleaning him. He sniffed at Newt, nodded and strode back to his desk, leaving him to follow quickly. 

He sniffed at himself; he smelled faintly like Mr. Graves' cologne the last time,<strike> not that he remembered or anything</strike>. It was just a distinctive scent.

Tina had gone in and made herself comfortable in one of the armchairs, watching them with an amused smile. 

He sat next to Tina, waiting silently as Mr. Graves gathered a large pile of files in his arms and placed it on the desk. 

"We're going to have a busy day. Twenty beasts all within the last five hours, and I can already feel more are coming this week." He leaned back in his seat, massaging his temples.

"Twenty?" Newt couldn't very well hide his shock. He glanced at Tina who had turned pale and her knuckles white.

"But how, sir?" Tina asked.

"How should I know?" Mr. Graves snapped, glaring at them both. "Blasted Picquery just decided we're now an animal hotel, thanks to Newt here. Then fucking Death decided he didn't want to escort them just yet, so now it's left to us, the pet detective agency," he finished with a growl. The man beckoned for his coffee mug to fill, and offered them before he sat.

"Tea, please," Newt mumbled, already grabbing a file off the top of the pile. He tuned out the small briefing Mr. Graves was giving Tina, who nodded at intervals while the former gave instructions. Neither seemed to care that he had excluded himself from their conversation, so he saw fit to peruse the file. The beast was strange. It was unlike any other he had encountered. Its plumage was that of an occamy, but its tail looked like a cruel mace with its curved spikes. Hmm. A mug appeared in front of him, which he took absently as he focused on the death report. He barely noticed the click of the door when Tina excused herself from the meeting. 

It wasn't until he was about to grab the next file that he realized he was left alone with Mr. Graves. The man was hunched over another file, making notes as he adjusted his spectacles and mussed his hair. Newt smiled at the human gesture, relaxing slightly in the man's presence as he continued reading the next report. No sooner had he thought it, a notepad and pen appeared in front of him. With a murmur of thanks, he set to work, writing notes where he saw it relevant. 

So they sat in companionable silence, well, as silent as could be with Mr. Graves pacing back and forth as he mumbled to himself. It reminded Newt of a restless wampus, prowling about in its new habitat. He was about to make a comment when a file landed on top of the pile with a dull thud. Both of them turned to look as more files piled on top of each other over the next few minutes. Both were horrified at the volume and speed at which the pile the grew, but for different reasons. 

Without warning, Graves crossed the room to Newt and grabbed his chin, so Newt could truly appreciate the dark (crazed) gleam in his eyes. 

"You gotta get to the bottom of this," Graves said vehemently (he was not the type to beg, no, sir). "I want that pile gone. GONE." 

"I'll, ah." Newt cleared his throat and licked his lips nervously; the proximity was much too intimate at the moment. "I'll do my best," he promised. 


	3. January, 1915

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt realizes a few things.

The stack of files rose each day, much to Mr. Grave's chagrin and Newt's horror. 

Existing files thickened as Newt uncovered more links between the beasts. They had undergone grotesque transformations, and some were, for lack of a better word, incomplete. Deformed and some unformed internal organs in younger creatures. Amalgamation of parts that didn't seem to fit the purpose. Some formations were so poorly thought out that it caused the animal's inevitable death. All had died in excruciating pain, he noted, jaws clenched, his grip on his pen tightening.

"Careful, might set fire to your notes, if you keep staring at it like that," Graves said drily, sauntering towards Newt.

Newt jerked up, eyebrows furrowed deep as he tried to tamp down his anger. He could feel it engulfing him, almost threatening to color his words and actions with violent strokes. He made it his own crusade to find the perpetrator of these heinous crimes and— 

Graves peered at him, a shrewd glint in his eyes. "Newt. May I remind you that retribution is not within your purview?"

Newt glared at his notes, staring unseeingly as he mulled over the implications—it wasn't fair, at all. No one would tell him what would happen if he were to act on his intentions, so he can only assume the worst. 

Mr. Graves shifted nearer, picking up a random file to examine as he left him in silence to ponder his decision.

Newt took deep, stuttering breaths. 

"I'm lost," he said in a quiet voice, acutely ashamed that there wasn't more he could do. "I- I need help." 

He refused to look at the other man, afraid of what he might see—skepticism, or even worse, _derision_. 

Graves didn't seem to hear him, deep in his own thoughts as he pulled another file. He watched in silence, shoving aside his small shame, his curiosity piqued.

"Interesting," he muttered as he skimmed through file after file.

"What is it?" he asked. He sat up straighter, almost daring to hope that _finally_, finally there was _something_. Anything. He'd take anything at this point. 

Graves spared him a sympathetic glance. A smile slowly formed on his lips as he waved elegantly. A map unfolded in midair as Newt looked on in apprehension, mouth agape as brightly colored pins formed clusters all over.

"They're all near known trade ports!" Newt exclaimed, finally seeing the pattern. 

Graves hummed in agreement, tapping his chin as he regarded a port sparsely populated with blinking pins. 

"These creatures are dying," he said, unaware of the sharp look Newt directed at him. 

"You can tell if someone's dying?" he asked in a brittle voice. Had Graves known all this while? Why didn't he say anything sooner? 

Graves gazed at him solemnly, as though contemplating his answer. Just as he was about to reply, the door slammed open and Tina ran over to them, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. 

"Mr. Graves—" She stopped short when the man held up his hand. 

He beckoned towards the map, where the pins were no longer blinking. Newt gasped. 

"We should go now. The culprit might still be around," he said, directing the last part at Newt as he tugged them both behind. 

***

It didn't take them long to arrive at the scene of the recent deaths. It almost felt like they'd just turn around the corner, and there it was, an abandoned factory stood in a derelict neighborhood. Graves entered, his expression unfathomable, with Newt and Tina flanking his sides. None of them spoke as they regarded the lifeless, forlorn figures in cages, even as the stench emanating from older carcasses stabbed their noses. 

A lone hunched figure stood with their back towards them, unaware of the new company, ignorant of the anguished moans surrounding them. 

Newt crouched at the nearest creature, attempting to caress its soft fur, though his hand went through instead. It closed its eyes, breaths slowing down until it stopped completely, and its soul left its body. He clenched his hands, trembling in fury.

He took a moment to compose himself, heart hurting from the pitiful dying moans around him, and he was unable to comfort them as they drew in their last breaths. He rose, ignoring his companions who were deep in a discussion, likely conferring how they could apprehend the mad person before them. This was his opportunity to regain justice. He surged forward in large strides, assured of his ability to fuck some shit up.

"Newt, no!" Tina exclaimed, his sleeves slipping past her fingers. 

Her plea went unheard, his rage consuming his thoughts and senses, his arm rising just as the figure whirled around, features contorting in annoyance at the sudden disturbance.

"_Cru_-" The spell never formed completely—his voice taken midway. Tina came closer, looking at him fearfully, but determined to keep him in place as she wove a binding spell around him.

The culprit scrambled backwards, hands scrabbling for a weapon to defend himself, momentarily joyous when he grabbed a gaudy-looking ornament, and held it in front of him as though it would stave off Graves' steady approach. He closed his eyes as his lips moved rapidly in a chant.

Graves' magic set off sparks, crackling like lightning against every surface reachable. A hungry, vicious smile formed on his lips as he stalked his prey, taking careful steps closer, gaze focused like a lion on its prize.

Newt's anger abated quickly, replaced by growing awe and curiosity as he nudged Tina, who only tightened her grip on his arm in response. 

"Stray spirits don't usually have happy endings, Alistair," Graves said, casually waving off an offensive spell that flew at him. 

"How do you know my name?" The man asked, frantically throwing more objects at him, which he deflected easily as he made his advances.

"Tut tut, that's not for you to care," he said, mocking the man. "Illegally possessing a living, sentient being, experimenting on living, non-sentient beings, callous mass slaughter of lives," Graves rattled off, working up a shield as a particularly nasty spell shot towards him. 

"Resisting apprehension, assaulting me with the use of magical weapons with intent to maim," he continued, grinning when he caught sight of a momentary weakness, and aimed his binding spell. Large chains wrapped violently around the man, who still sought to escape Graves, alas, to no avail as he toppled over when more chains wrapped around his legs.

"And illegally using magical means to hide from our oversight." Graves stopped in front of their captive and grabbed his chin roughly. "You're going to be a celebrity in torture chamber five."

"We could upgrade him to a six if you'd like." 

Newt and Tina spun around, watching in rapt attention as a stern-looking woman clad in long black robes emerged from the shadows, stepping into the light, and stood next to Graves.

He glanced at their new guest, who began a cursory inspection of the workbench. 

"Sera, how kind of you to join us."

"Hmm. It's Seraphina, Mr. Graves," she replied coolly.

"Hmm. Six?" He spared a quick look at Newt, who was relatively subdued at the sight of an unfamiliar entity, though his defiant expression remained. "Six," he said, firmly.

She turned her attention to their captive, choking him as she pulled a soul out from the body, which slumped as soon as the spirit was extracted. With a snap of her fingers, a portal appeared beneath the disembodied spirit, swallowing him whole, his face grimacing in pain, his screams muted. 

As soon as the portal closed, she leveled Newt with an assessing stare, and latter couldn't help the faint shudder under her scrutiny.

"Mind him well, lest he follows suit," she said to Graves, nodding in Newt's direction. She disappeared without much fuss.

"Can't let you go just yet, Newt. Nearly lost you there," Tina said, apologetically, and patted his arm as she left him with Graves.

He nodded, though he was still confused. 

"Stray, vindictive soul. Seraphina will see to it he's treated justly," Graves said, examining Newt as he accepted the explanation, before unraveling his binds with a small gesture.

"Tina, call for Death. It's about time he comes collecting." 

She nodded, expression resolute as she began corralling the creatures' souls, which were starting to build a commotion. 

Graves pulled him aside, and with a firm grip on his elbow, brought them both down to sit against the wall, quietly observing Tina's cleanup efforts.

"Newt." He sighed. Without warning, he gently guided Newt to lean his head on his shoulder, effectively trapping the bewildered man. He was not used to sudden physical contact, warranted or not.

"When a soul is engulfed by revenge, anger and hatred, it's forever changed. It can't be reverted or redeemed," he said, patting his head softly. Newt had the weirdest sensation he was being treated like an overgrown, frightened animal of some sort. "You could have turned into that crazy angry spirit right there, and Seraphina would be well within her rights to kill you as well."

Newt jerked his head up, finally meeting Graves' gaze. "Kill- kill me?"

"Yes. You become an uncontrollable force. High probability of turning malevolent." He looked down at his hands, reluctant to say what came next. "We hunt these beings. Seraphina puts them away or destroys them." 

It made sense now, why the others were often afraid to discuss such things. Watching Graves and Seraphina do their respective jobs had instilled in him a healthy fear for their brand of justice. Though he certainly wouldn't mind if he could also exercise similar powers, especially over men who relished in cruelty against innocent creatures.

He resumed his previous position, finding some comfort in the man's broad shoulder. So broad. And comfortable. A hand came to rest around his shoulder, Newt noted its presence, slightly thrilled and placated by the close contact. 

"Who is she?"

"She's someone," came the evasive reply. "The only thing you need to know is that she's temperamental," he grumbled. 

He accepted the vague answer, begrudgingly. Maybe he was just still new and Graves wasn't ready to trust him, so he held his tongue, despite having more questions still unasked. He could always pry from Jacob later. 

They waited a bit more for Graves to recover for a while, under the guise of supervising Tina, before he took Newt back to the hotel. 

***

The aftermath was a flurry of activities—Graves was nowhere to be found, though Newt was sure he was hiding out in his office, he'd walked by a few times to patrol the halls for rascal nifflers and wayward bowtruckles, and he had heard voices. Graves' deep one, and an unfamiliar bright-sounding man who came by a few times. Tina had assumed authority in his absence, making sure the hotel operated as usual, and handling the logistics of ushering the experimental creatures into the afterlife. Newt could barely get a hold of Jacob, who was often found in Queenie's company as they ran around caring for their guests. He was left to his own devices, mostly, wandering the halls of some floors when he wasn't busy mucking about in the sanctuary. Like now.

He sighed. The animals were all fed and tended, so his duties were done. For the day, at least. His satisfaction rapidly dissolved into apprehension when he saw a wriggling black butt scurrying around the corner.

_Horton. Bugger._

He chased the little menace down the hall, already knowing where it was heading. Always Graves. He was so drawn to the man—the niffler, that is. Not Newt. He'd no time to drop by, thanks to all the clean up work since some of the animals had been sent off. 

"Hello, Horton," Graves greeted the little monster fondly, stopping Newt in his tracks just as he was about to reach the last hallway.

The niffler chittered and squeaked in response. 

"Hmm, shall we talk more in the office? I'm going to pick you up now, don't scratch. It's a new blazer." 

Er. He blinked in confusion. Did. Did Graves just understand Horton's creature talk? Newt tiptoed closer, not wanting to alert them to his presence. Perhaps he should conceal himself, just to listen in on their interaction. Graves very rarely came down to his sanctuary, so he didn't know how the man would interact with his creatures. He certainly didn't expect such kindness, given his ... grave disposition.

"Mr. Scamander, what are you doing here?" Graves said. 

Newt's eyes widened. He hadn't heard the man's approach. At all. The stealth is amazing. Much like a panther.

"I- I was just..." He averted his eyes, his shoulder slumped when he couldn't come up with a convincing lie. 

"Let's have a drink," Graves said, when nothing else was forthcoming. Without waiting for his reply, he walked alongside Newt, leading them to his office, a smug niffler cradled in his arms. 

An invitation. He didn't expect that. Perhaps this was a better way of observing man and beast.

Newt fought back adoring coos when the creature snuggle deeper, though his sneaked glances probably gave him away, judging from Graves' faint wry smile whenever he was caught. 

His heart missed a beat. Or two. It wasn't serious, he was dead anyway, he could afford missing many, many more beats if it meant catching those smiles and hoarding them somewhere in his memories. 

_Oh. Ohhhh. Well then._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! It was hectic end of the year, and I struggled tbh with where to stop for this one. Edited for a few rounds before I decided to publish. :) Let me know what you think!


End file.
